The Dark Path
Not to be outshone by its predecessor, 2019 has really stepped it up a notch.
Why have only one trip to London by now, when you could have two or three? Had a surgery this time last year? Ok, this time let’s yank out three organs, chuck in an infection and some substantial drama to boot — such as a week in hospital. Capital raise again? Sure, but how about we get it from different countries. Restructure? Ha! That’s nothing, let’s close a business instead — should be plenty of stress and drama in that! Now, let’s chuck into the mix a couple of legal battles (including taking on the terminology of the health insurance industry), substantial financial pressure, a spouse also in a fast-growing scale-up, major tech product releases and all the while continue to fight some kind of body inflammation. Don’t forget to keep the household running and the kids happy! (Edit: Oh yeah, and then there’s the renovation that went 50% over budget…)
What is different this year is that whilst in 2018 when the proverbial hit the fan, I hit the rocky bottom — in 2019, I’ve not. To be clear, I danced dangerously close to it, but I saw it, stepped back and walked confidently in the opposite direction (maybe whilst crying snotty tears).
Last year I wouldn’t let the word depression be applied, because it felt so situational. Who wouldn’t have a breakdown on the back of the sort of pressure and shit that had been regularly dining out on my plate? There was much subsequent industry discussion about the unrealistic and unsustainable hoops that founders jump through to achieve the near-on-impossible.
But this year I acknowledged a truth: that excessive stress and negative situational experiences can unlock a pathway in my mind that leads me to depression.
Armed with this knowledge and recognising I had another big set of mountains head of me, I did it differently this time. I made time for healing.
I deliberately took the guilt off and said, “I’m going to be working from home”. I managed the expectations of all of those around me, “I will be doing this at my own pace”. I put in place the right help and people and said, “I need you to step up and do this” and I gave myself the necessary recovery requirements — knowing that I would need them to recover from the emotional wounds about to be inflicted — and the inevitable grief expected to follow the termination of my fertility.
What I didn’t expect to happen was the unfortunate direction my surgery took that meant my body was pumped full of things for weeks (which is always hard on your gut and your mind) and then the Christchurch tragedy. I felt my personal grief compound and it didn’t take long to be wondering what the hell was the point of it all? When such horror and hate exists, how can we possibly be expected to see the joy in the world? All I could see was the earth dying, murder of innocents, powerful racists using platforms to incite more hate and horrifically enabled world leaders of industry and countries care only about commercial realities and not giving a single fuck about humanity. All I could think was “why bother?” Hello darkness my old friend.
Last year when this happened, embarrassed by my lack of resilience, I kept quiet. I felt shamefully self-indulgent. This year I still felt that shame, but I said it out loud anyhow. I put my hand up to my husband and told him that I could hear the depressive pathway opening its gates. I told my best friends. I used my words and expressed how low I was feeling. I can’t say they they were exactly shocked, after all, here I was in front of them 5kg lighter than a month ago (the “not eating for a week” hospital diet — effective, but not recommended), pale, drawn out and with dark circles. Not exactly a picture of health. They hugged me and didn’t tell me what to do, just gently shone new light on things.
Then new friends I made in the last year turned up. People who heard my public confession last year and signed up to the band wagon. They brought with them hugs, honest chats and much needed aroha. Reciprocal ones, where they probably needed it as much as I did.
The kids, another year older, wiser and now very open to emotional discussion, lay in bed with me and talked for hours about the things that had happened — to us, to others, to themselves. We shed tears visiting mosques, writing letters to families we don’t know and whose grief we can only but imagine. The conversations became learning sessions, each taking out paper to write down our thoughts, hopes, purpose and promises to ourselves (“I will never” is a great way to hold yourself accountable for walking away from the edge). We discussed intentions and rationale — subjects that both Scottie and I didn’t have the pleasure of really becoming acquainted with until we discovered therapy on the back of divorces. Yet here is a group of 12, 14 and 16 year old’s understanding cause and effect, implications and hurt. Emotional awareness has been bust wide open in our household and these kids are not sheltered from any of it. Instead, we choose to arm them with the ability to inspect their own feelings, appreciate the reactions and interactions with others, and the impact that they might have.
Last night an investor in my company (whom I’ve known since we were kids) reached out to me, after attending the funeral of a mutual school friend’s little brother (who had committed suicide). Whilst I didn’t know the boy, the summation of his life of “scholar, exceptional professional, brilliant sportsman, loved husband” was a familiar introduction to the subsequent “who battled depression and sadly lost”. My friend, baffled, saddened, and likely dismayed reached out to me and wanted to ensure I was ok. I was touched that he cared, but also felt that shameful indulgence and guilt once more — no one should be worrying about me.
Instead of clamming up and stoically replying “yup” in a classic example of good kiwi don’t-burden-anyone-else-so-bottle-it-up rhetoric, I told him the truth. It’s been a helluva start to the year. I could see myself following the depression down the seductive path way in my mind, where it feels familiar and comforting. I found myself nearing that edge and I pulled back and said it out loud to those around me, who could walk with me down a different path. I didn’t let it take control, I took control of it. I told him that I felt extraordinary grief right now and that every day is hard, but that I am here for it — because I know the only way out of it, is through it. That’s what 2018 taught me and 2019 will be better off because of it. I will be better for it.
I’m one of the lucky ones, I can verbalise all of this and because of that I will continue to do so. I know that not everyone has that option, it manifests in many different ways. But I over-share all of this not for attention or sympathy, but because I know that it’s the remedy for many of us (not all of us) — I believe connection removes isolation. Over the last year I have received scores of emails from people I don’t know, telling me how hearing my story has helped them speak out loud their own truth, without shame and start to walk back out of their own dark path. Shine a light, make it bright, make it normal. It’s made me realise it’s what we all have to do.
Here’s what I’d like us all to do:
It’s not just about checking up on your friends (and please keep doing that too, it humanises our connections in so many wonderful ways), but it’s also about emotionally expressing yourself too. Admitting your own pain, letting others know what is your normal so they can connect with you on it too. The gift I choose to give my step-kids, is the gift of emotional discussion and openness, sharing our pains, our joy, our fears, our anxieties and our grief. Normalising that this is life, with all its horror and hate, but that there is joy in connection and the little things that make it worthwhile too — and it’s what we’ll all need as anchors and coping mechanisms at some point, to help pull us away from the edge and enable us to put our hand out to someone we trust, just in time.
Anytime you want to talk, I’m here to listen jenene@flossie.com xx
